


Family

by QueenOfAllCorgis



Series: Fly Away, Fly Away, Far Away [9]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angel!Roger, Discrimination, M/M, Meeting the Family, Slavery, past noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22552951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfAllCorgis/pseuds/QueenOfAllCorgis
Summary: Roger meets his friends family.Roger loses his mother.Brian meets Roger's mother.Angel!Verse
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Freddie Mercury
Series: Fly Away, Fly Away, Far Away [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1474874
Comments: 92
Kudos: 189





	1. Kashmira Bulsara

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this prompt by phoenixqueen07:
> 
> Has Roger met John, Freddie, and Brian’s families? If not, I think it could be interesting to see what their families think of Roger and Angel Rights

**Kashmira Bulsara**

It was  _ bloody cold _ .

Kash walked as quickly through the market, grateful that it wasn’t as crowded as it usually was. She had dreaded the idea of trying to fight through hordes of people just to get to the stall and praised herself on coming on a Tuesday afternoon.

Turning the corner, she wrapped her coat even tighter around her and set into almost a jog until she reached Freddie’s stall. As always, the piles of clothes were messily organized and stuffed into the small stall. Not as always, there was a blond man leafing through a magazine perched on a stool in the corner.

“Hello, where’s Freddie?” She asked and blue eyes flicked up to hers.

That’s when she saw the wings.

For a moment she thought that Freddie had dreamed up some ridiculous advertising scheme and had suckered this poor guy into wearing wings. Then, the wings twitched and pulled in a bit tighter as she continued to stare.

He was an angel.

There was an angel working in Freddie’s stall.

Freddie had an angel.

“Um…Freddie is out at the moment,” the angel slouched a bit, fingers curling around the sides of the page.

“Who are you?” Kash blurted.

“Roger.”

She blinked a few times, not quite sure what she expected. “Did…does my brother own you or rent you or…”

The angel’s brow furrowed and then his eyes widened in understanding. “Oh! No! None-“

He was interrupted by Freddie sweeping into the stall, brandishing two paper bags. “Honey! I’m-“

She had to admit it was satisfying to give him a solid whack with her purse. Freddie’s hands fluttered up to block her flying purse but she continued to hit at him, screaming all the while.

“FARROKH! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU!” She shrieked. “OWNING AN ANGEL? I NEVER, EVER THOUGHT YOU WOULD STOOP THAT LOW!”

Freddie batted her hands away, clearly startled. How dare he? How dare he own someone? Kash knew that he had dreams of being a rockstar but never thought he would stoop this low, playing famous by buying a person.

“For fuck’s sake!” Freddie managed to wrestle the purse away. “Stop! Listen!”

She stilled, breathing hard, and let her hands fall back to her side. After a pause Freddie gingerly held out the purse and she snatched it back. “Okay. Talk.”

“Roger is our friend. His previous master was a fucking monster and hurt him badly, we bought him so we could  _ help _ him,” he fixed a too big smile on his face and Kash scowled. “Seriously!”

“It’s true,” the angel finally spoke up, stepping towards her. “After my last master broke my wing he helped me set it, he gave me a home, and he is teaching me how to read.”

“What?” Kash frowned at Freddie who gave her a little shrug.

“He saved me,” Roger said softly, eyes flicking between the two of them.

“What the hell is going on?” Kash frowned, looking between the two of them.

Then Freddie told her the whole story. He told her about how Tim horrifically abused Roger, going a bit pale and glassy eyed as he recalled when they had to reset Roger’s broken wing. He told her about the struggle as they helped Roger healed. He told her about the discrimination he suffered from. He told her about what a gifted musician he was.

By the end, Kash felt hollowed out.

She had always hated the idea of owning an angel, thinking it was truly disgusting. Still, she ignored most of the truth around it. If she didn’t know the horrors of the world, then she didn’t have to think about it.

But now she did.

And now she was able to put a face to the pain.

“Are we good?” Freddie asked, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Kash nodded.


	2. Bomi and Jer Bulsara

**Bomi and Jer Bulsara**

“Mama, I bought an angel.”

Farrokh was her baby boy, always would be, and it shattered her heart to hear him cry into the phone. It sickened her to hear the condition they found this angel in and how desperate he was to fix things, and how scared he was that he couldn’t. 

She was a mother, and mothers were supposed to fix things.

She couldn’t fix this.

So, she did what she could. Jer sent money to Farrokh to help with Roger’s care and checked in with him as much as possible. Things improved, slowly but surely, and their phone calls turns from Farrokh sobbing into the phone to him excitedly telling her about his improvements. 

It didn’t take long before Jer became curious. 

“It’s just that he is so invested,” she sighed when she hung up the phone, turning to Bomi who was leafing through a newspaper. “I can’t figure out why.”

“Farrokh obsesses,” Bomi huffed. “He obsesses over his flashy clothes, being a rockstar, and now his new pet. He likes the way it makes him feel, regardless of what we taught him.”

Jer clenched her jaw but didn’t want to rehash an old argument. “Well, we should have him and his friends over for dinner. To celebrate the album.”

There was a small shrug from Bomi but that wasn’t a no. 

As usual, Farrokh opened the door with a flourish and sang out his arrival. Jer quickly wiped her hands on a dish towel and hurried into the front room, curiosity gnawing at her stomach. 

Farrokh was wearing his normal flashy clothes, this time a tight fighting suit with something glittery on the lapels. Next to him was his roommate John, the quiet young man she had only met a few times. He offered her a shy smile and her heart warmed at the sight of him. Brian was more familiar, having been to the house a few times, and he gave a polite greeting.

Then, there was the angel. 

He was undoubtedly beautiful. This was the kind of beauty that was so prized with his light hair and blue eyes. He would have been truly stunning if he hadn’t looked so  _ terrified. _ Strong wings were tucked in tight behind him and his shoulders curled in, fact drawn in worry. 

“Mama, this is Roger,” Farrokh took the angel’s hand and pulled him towards her. Instantly Roger’s eyes dropped to the ground and he shrank down further. 

“It is lovely to meet you my dear,” she said softly, feeling a thrill of victory when blue eyes flicked up. “Welcome to our home.”

“Thank you ma’am,” his voice was barely audible. 

Jer had hoped that after some time in the home Roger would relax. She was wrong. He still stayed close to one of his friends, seeming nervous to go too far. He never spoke to her and seemed almost to tremble when he met Bomi. 

But her son, her dear son, treated him like a treasure. 

Farrokh smiled and laughed, trying his best to include Roger in conversations. He refilled the angel’s glass every time it became half empty, saving him the trouble of asking. She saw him describing every food on his plate in great detail but didn’t pressure him to eat. 

Then Farrokh got a phone call and stepped out for a moment. John and Brian were deep in conversation about some technical project John was working on, all excited voices and waving hands. 

Roger was left alone, eyes nervously flicking between his friends. It was obviously how uncomfortable he was but he was too scared to speak out, trapped between two places. 

“Would you like another cookie Roger?” Jer asked him, keeping a small smile on her face. His entire body went perfectly stiff and she could practically see the wheels frantically turning in his head. 

He didn’t respond right away so she just continued. “Well, they’re not really cookies. They’re called malai na khaja, more of a pastry I suppose. My mother, Farrokh’s grandmother, made them for special occasions and I would just beg for them. He was the same as a child, sneaking them constantly.”

Roger’s shoulders shook as he inhaled and his hands clenched into fists on his lap. 

“I know he wants to go by Freddie now but his real name is Farrokh,” Jer laughed, shaking her head. “It means happy in our language.”

“That is fitting,” he finally spoke. 

“It is, isn’t it?” Jer smiled and served Roger another pastry. “He tells me you play the drums and that you learned them entirely by ear, is that true?”

She could have cheered when Roger looked at her, finally giving her his full attention. “I...I guess...Freddie’s been helping me a lot. He’s a great teacher.”

With every word he said he relaxed ever, ever so slightly. She was finally able to get a good look at his stunning wings but made it a point to keep a look at his face. “I’m glad, he’s a good boy. And your album is very good, I listened to it myself. Farrokh told me some of the songs were inspired by angel beliefs?”

And then it was like Roger was a whole other person. His entire face lit up and his wings relaxed further, a bright smile on his face. This was the bright, kind soul Farrokh had spoken so much about. 

“Yes! My mother would tell me stories about Rhye and the Fairy King when I was a fledgling,” his voice came out slightly higher and faster. “And Freddie wanted to include them in the album!”

“And what does your mother think of that?” Jer knew it was the wrong question to ask the moment the last word left her lips. Just as quickly as Roger had perked up, he seemed to deflate. A dark shadow passed over his face and his shoulders curled in. 

“I...I don’t know,” his voice was barely audible. “They took me from her when I was very young. I hadn’t heard from her and just found out that she had passed.”

“Oh, I am so sorry dear,” Jer placed her hand over his, relieved that he didn’t pull away.

“It’s a normal thing...not living long, happy lives,” he shrugged and her heart broke further. “I’m beyond lucky that your son saved me. My mother...she would have wanted me to find people like them. She would want me to be this happy.”

Tears pricked at Jer’s eyes and she saw how Bomi watched them carefully from across the table, hands folded in front of them. Her heart broke for this poor motherless child. The amount of pain and suffering he had endured through his short life was like nothing she could imagine. 

“Speaking as a mother, I know she would be incredibly proud,” Roger’s eyes went a bit shiny at that and he smiled. 

Farrokh came back into the room, glancing at them both nervously. At Jer’s tiny nod he relaxed a bit and took his seat back, starting up a conversation about the phone call he just had. Roger smiled at his jokes and even laughed a few times, finally looking like he wasn’t about to jump out of his skin. 

When it was time for them to leave she leaned up to hug each of the boys, feeling a thrill when Roger accepted her hug as well. She squeezed his shoulders, feeling the soft feathers under her fingers, and smiled. 

“You are welcome any time Roger,” she said earnestly. “I am more than happy to make you whatever treats you desire.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he gave her a slightly crooked smile. “And thank you...this has been...thank you.”

With a few final waves and a kiss on the cheek from Farrokh they walked out the door and shut it firmly behind them. Jer pressed a hand to her chest, feeling like her body had been wrung dry. Bomi stepped beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing lightly. 

“We did right,” he said softly. “We raised our boy right.”

She nodded, throat too tight to speak. 


	3. Lilian Molly Deacon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, let me preface this chapter by saying Lilian Deacon is NOT a bad person. She is completely ignorant of the fact that angels have thoughts and feelings like people. Any horrible things she is saying come entirely from a place of ignorance.

**Lilian Molly Deacon**

Things had been hard for Lilian. 

It was hard to raise two young children who had lost their father. It was hard to return to work after a few years of being a stay at home mom. It was hard to have to scale back their spending to try and compensate for their lesser income. 

But...she knew that there was more out there.

When the children were asleep and the house was quiet, she would doze in front of the television. She watched the celebrities walking around, not a care in the world, with angels trailing behind them obediently. They were so grand, so beyond the tiny home with crumbling paint that she lived in. 

And John could be one of those people.

Lilian always knew her son was brilliant. She saw it in the way he clung on to his father’s every word, eyes locked on whatever trinket they were fiddling with. She saw it in the concentrated way he practiced his guitar over and over again. He was full of talent and now he was a musician, an actual musician. 

“They said that it might take a while for actual money to start coming in but it’s  _ happening _ ,” John let out in a gush. “We have an album coming out mum! My name is going to be on an album!”

“That’s amazing John!” She found herself grinning like a loon. 

“It is! We are even in talks of a tour, including America!” She could practically hear him vibrating with excitement. “We just need to figure out logistics.”

“Well, you tell me when your next show and maybe I can come. I can bring Julie with me as well,” she chuckled. “I’ll fit right in with all your wild fans. Next thing you know, you’ll be strutting the red carpet in a thousand pound tux with an angel at your side!”

John went quiet on the other side of the phone. 

“John?”

“Um...yeah...so...Roger is our drummer right?” He sounded nervous. She had heard him talk briefly about Roger, mostly in passing, so she nodded a bit. “He’s an angel.”

Lilian felt her heart jump. “What?”

“He’s an angel and we bought him from his last owner.”

“You have an angel?!” Lilian clutched the phone tight. “Like Elizabeth Taylor and Cary Grant? John, you’re like a celebrity! Everyone is going to look at you with such envy!”

“Mum! No, it’s not like that,” John let out a sigh. “He’s hurt.”

“That’s so smart! Get that image first and then get a nice one when you can afford it,” she hummed. 

John was quiet on the other end and Lilian sensed something was off. “Mum...his last owner beat the hell out of him. He practically tortured him, treated him like an animal, and broke his wing. We bought him so he wouldn’t be hurt more or killed.”

“I...I don’t understand,” Lilian frowned. “You got a rescue angel?”

“No mum...Roger is...he’s a person,” she furrowed her brow in confusion. “He has thoughts and feelings and...he’s so lost. He has been raped, beaten, and starved. He’s scared all the time mum and we just want him to...not be.”

Something twisted in Lilian’s stomach and she cleared her throat. “So...where in the states would you visit?”

She could sense the disappointment in John but he let it go and went back to talking about the upcoming tour. The angel was quickly forgotten and Lilian was able to forget the horrible things John had mentioned.

Then she actually met Roger. 

The first few album release parties had been little shindigs at bars, hardly something they wanted to invite their mothers to, but A Day at the Races was released with a huge party. Lilian felt amazing in the beautiful dress John had gifted her and introduced herself to every single person she walked past.

“I’m Lilian Deacon, the bassist’s mother!”

She didn’t even see John until part way through the night. He had a bright smile on his face, made a bit brighter by the half empty glass in his hand, and was laughing along with a blond man. Lilian fixed a smile on her face and approached her son.

“Mum!” John beamed at her and kissed her cheek. “What a party huh?”

“It’s pretty wild,” she teased, turning to the man John had been talking to. Her line was on the tip of her tongue when she caught sight of the blue wings that spread out from the man’s back. The words died in her mouth and she couldn’t help but stare. The angel’s smile turned a bit awkward and he extended his hand. 

“I’m Roger,” he said kindly. 

Lilian kept her hand by her side and turned to look at her son, brow furrowed. “You...you treat him like a person? John, he’ll think he’s like us.”

“He is,” John’s eyes turned a bit icy, so different than anything Lilian had ever seen directed at her. “Roger is just like us.”

“It’s lovely to meet you ma’am,” Roger had a kind voice but it felt so  _ wrong _ talking to an angel like it was one of them.

“Mum, Roger is one of us. He’s not a pet or an animal, you have to understand that,” John’s voice went a little pleading. 

One of them?

Where was her little boy who would fawn over pictures of angels with her, daydreaming about what color of wings their angels would have when they had enough money?

It...it made her feel judged. It made her feel like John was looking down on her, like she was being unreasonable. 

It made her angry. 

“John, you're being ridiculous,” she huffed. “Do you think all these people are going to like this little stunt? You’re going to be the laughing stock of the music industry.”

Roger winced a bit and John straightened up, eyes flashing. “Roger is my friend, my best friend. I won’t let you talk about him that way. He is strong and smart and...I didn’t see it at first but now I do. You should to, you should give him a damn chance.”

He spun on his heel and stalked off into the crowd, leaving a stunned Lilian and Roger behind. The angel hesitated before following him, wings tucked in tight behind him. Tears burned in Lilian’s eyes as she tried her best not to let them fall. 

What in the hell was John going on about?

She watched her son and Roger from a distance, heart breaking at the sight of John’s anger. Her son looked hurt and furious, talking at a mile a minute and shaking all over. The angel stood close and talked softly to him. He looked sad but resigned and slowly but surely John relaxed. 

Lilian kept a close eye on him.

The angels she had seen in the past were nothing more than a pretty accessory, like a purse or jewelry. Roger wasn’t like that. He smiled and laughed along with others. He was a talented musician and she was surprised to hear that he had written some of the songs. He talked to John with the ease of a friend, not a owned pet. 

Maybe...maybe she was wrong. 

Maybe Roger was more. 

Lilian waited until John was taken aside by Freddie and Roger was alone before she approached him. The angel’s eyes became instantly guarded and he stiffened at her approach, something that made her feel sick and small. 

“I love my son,” she said softly. “And if what he says is true about you I need to trust in that.”

Roger stared at her before nodding. “Alright.”

“His father died when he was young and he had to grow up fast. I never would have gotten through that horrible time without him,” Roger softened a bit at that. “He’s a smart boy. He says you are his friend...and I want to know the people who are important to him.”

Finally, she got a small smile in response. “Can we start over? I’m Roger.”

This time she accepted his hand and shook it. “Lilian, it is lovely to meet you.”

Talking to an angel like he was a person was strange but...maybe it was something she could get used to. 


	4. Ruth and Harold May

**Harold and Ruth May**

Harold remembered the dark times with Brian. 

His son was the thing he was most proud of in his life. He had watched him grow from a curious, sweet boy to an intelligent, kind young man. The times they spent, building guitars and looking at stars from their garden, were some of the most treasured ones he had.

Then...a shadow would pass.

He and Ruth felt helpless during those times. Their sweet boy would become quiet and withdrawn. The light almost seemed to dim in him, smiles fading and eyes going dim. They could listen to him cry throughout the night, unable to sleep due to the poisonous thoughts spinning in his mind. 

Doctors just prescribed medication that turned him into a zombie. Therapy was attempted before the stigma became too much for Brian and he stopped. Other attempts to do something failed, sputtering to a halt almost instantly. 

There would just be darkness. It was just something they had to live with but it didn’t mean Harold didn’t worry. 

This time seemed like every other.

Brian came over for their monthly family dinner like always and instantly they knew something was wrong. His smile was tight and his shoulders curled in on themselves. He was quiet throughout dinner, only responding to direct questions and just staring at his plate when no one directly spoke to him. 

“Brian, darling?” Ruth said, glancing at Harold worriedly. “Is everything alright?”

And that was enough.

That was enough to have Brian sobbing into his slice of chocolate cake.

Instantly, Ruth slid to her knees next to him. She cooed softly as Harold leaned forward and placed a hand on his trembling shoulder. It broke his heart to see his son so shattered. It was a father’s job to protect his child and he felt entirely useless. 

“Breathe sweetie, just breathe,” Ruth whispered, pressing her forehead into his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Brian managed to choke out. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re fine,” Harold said softly, squeezing his shoulder. 

They never forced him to talk, that was a choice he could make. It seemed like he would either talk about it or just need the safe space to cry it out. He prayed this would be something that they could help him with.

It took some time but he finally managed to get himself under some control, just sucking in shaky breaths instead of sobbing uncontrollably. Finally, he opened watery hazel eyes and let out a stream of breath. 

“I met someone,” he whispered. 

“Okay,” Harold nodded, meeting his wife’s worried gaze.

“His name is Roger...he’s an angel,” they didn’t say a word. “Tim got him as a present and...it’s horrible. He beats on him every time he says something he doesn’t like. He treats him like an animal, he...he uses him sexually like he is just a toy...he’s trying to break him.”

Harold nodded, unsure of what to say. He had always found the angel trade a bit unsavory and hadn’t been shy about sharing those thoughts with his son. He had hoped that Brian wouldn’t face the dark truth of it but apparently he did.

“He brought Roger over for dinner the other day and had been starving him for something so little and stupid,” Brian spat out, eyes flashing. “I tried...I tried giving him food and he refused it because he was so scared. When I finally convinced him to take a damn bite he scarfed the food down like he hadn’t eaten in days. It was just a few dumplings and...and...he tried to thank me...sexually because that is what is expected of him.”

“Oh Brian...”

“I didn’t!” Brian glanced at the two of them. “I swear but...he’s not a brainless pet. He’s smart and funny and talented. He played the drums during practice the other day and he’s  _ good _ , he’s a natural talent. Tim beat him when he realized this...but...Freddie and I decided to start our own band and asked if Roger could be our drummer.”

Harold nodded, trying to process the information. 

“He was so damn excited and so willing to learn but we just wanted him to have a time where he wasn’t scared of being beaten,” hands tightened into fists and Ruth took one hand in her own, smoothing out his fingers. “He told us that he had started being trained as a  _ child _ and his mother was probably euthanized because she couldn’t have children anymore. He was so fucking resigned to it too...it was so normal to him.”

That made Harold’s heart clench painfully. 

“We just want him to have a good life, to feel safe and...I don’t know what to do,” Brian choked, pressing a hand to his mouth. “I hate feeling so helpless.”

Harold understood that.

“He doesn’t deserve the pain he is in,” Brian shook his head.

Not knowing what else to say, Harold and Ruth just let him talk. They listened to the heartbreak he had been through, the dread he had felt seeing Roger face the horror of being owned, and the abuse they couldn’t do anything about. 

There wasn’t really a solution and they couldn’t do anything. It wasn’t something that could be fixed and that broke their hearts. Brian just had to live with the helplessness and even when they said their goodbyes he still was cloaked with powerlessness. 

Ruth cried herself to sleep in Harold’s arm that night and shed a few tears himself. 

They got a few updates after that. Brian talked to them about how Roger was adapting to being in the band, how Tim treated him like an object, and how they tried their damndest to protect him. 

It was a normal thing to hear Brian’s voice soft and sad. 

Harold hated it.

Then, they bought Roger.

Brian called them, voice high and panicked, and told them that they had bought out Roger’s contract. He had sobbed into the phone and told them how Tim had broken Roger’s wing and ignored his agony. 

As horrible as the start was, everything after that seemed a bit better. Their son’s voice was still a bit strained and tired when he spoke about Roger but it was, in general, more positive. Roger was healing, Roger was learning to read, Roger was being more confident. 

Roger was all Brian talked about.

Harold wasn’t stupid, neither was his wife, and parents knew their children. It was never spoken aloud but they both knew that Roger was something special to Brian. They could hear it in the way the dark lifted when he spoke. They could see it in the way he smiled and his shoulders relaxed. 

The tour of America started well. Sparse phone calls from their son showed that he was having a wonderful, if not incredibly busy time. Even when he caught a bug he seemed happy, chatting about all the insane things happening. 

Then they got the phone call from Freddie. 

“Mr. May? Something is wrong, Brian is terribly ill.”

Terribly ill was a kind way to put it. Their son looked to be on death’s door when he arrived back in England. His skin was a waxy yellow color and his cheekbones jutted out sickeningly. It was obvious that he was in incredible amount of pain and there was nothing they could do. 

John and Freddie hovered around him, clearly worried. They tried to pretend things were okay but the tight, nervous smiles they had weren’t entirely convincing. Things only got worse when they got the news that his arm might have to be amputated. 

That dark cloud hovered over him like a suffocating blanket. A light dimmed in his eyes and he just stared out the tiny window, hand loosely wrapped around his bandaged arm. Ruth fussed around him, smoothing down his unkept hair and trying to convince him to eat. 

“What’s this?” She asked, pulling a long feather out from under his pillow. Brian blinked at her and Harold leaned in to see. 

“Oh...” Brian took the feather from her, the first small smile they had seen in a long time quirking at his lips. “It’s Roger’s.”

Now Harold could see it. They had seen pictures of Roger in the newspapers and magazines that they kept stored in their office. The feather was a brighter, more vibrant blue than he could have imagined and Brian looked at it like it was a treasure. 

“He said it would help heal me...some ancient angel mumbo jumbo nonsense,” Brian mumbled. 

“Has he come to visit often?” Harold asked and Brian shook his head sadly. 

“He’s not allowed...no pets allowed and all that. Freddie had to sneak him in,” Brian stared down at the feather. “I wish he could be here.”

So...Roger was left entirely alone during all of this. Freddie and John had either been at the hospital or meeting with executives about the upcoming album and tour. The angel had been stuck in their flat with no one to help him. 

He and Ruth didn’t even have a discussion about it. They stopped at a sandwich shop, picked up lunch and went to Brian’s flat. 

It took some time before the door was answered and blue eyes peered out at them. “Yes?”

“Roger?” Ruth stepped forward, putting on a friendly smile. 

“Uh huh...” the angel frowned, keeping the door barely cracked open. 

“My name is Ruth and this is my husband Harold,” she motioned behind herself and Harold gave a little wave. “We are Brian’s parents.”

Roger blinked at them and then frowned in confusion. “Brian’s parents?”

“Yes dear. I understand that you are here alone and we just wanted to check up on you. We brought you lunch,” as if on cue, Harold held up the bag. Roger hesitated for a moment longer before opening the door further. 

Finally, Harold was able to see Roger’s wings in full. They were as beautiful as Brian had described, stunning and vibrant. However, the way Roger pulled them back showed that he was well aware they were staring. 

“I hope you like turkey,” Ruth smiled brightly and walked in. 

Roger was clearly uncomfortable, hovering around the edges of the room as they came in. He watched warily when Ruth went into the kitchen and grabbed a plate. She put the sandwich and crisps on it and presented it to him with a smile. 

“This was...unnecessary,” Roger took the plate but didn’t touch the food. 

“Nonsense,” Ruth waved her hand. “Sit and eat.”

It took a bit more convincing before the angel sat at the dining table and started nibbling at the sandwich. Harold started doing what he did best, rambling. He talked at length about making the Red Special with Brian, about how they had tinkered with so much sound equipment and how proud he was of Brian’s success.

“He is very smart,” Roger finally relaxed, the constant stream of chat seeming to soothe him. “I just pretend to understand what he is saying most of the time.”

“Oh, Brian tells us how smart you are too,” Ruth laughed and Roger’s face softened. 

“He talks about me?”

“You are all he ever talks about,” Harold grinned. “Hell, we don’t hear him talk about anything else.”

Roger blushed and looked down at his nearly empty plate. “For now I suppose. If Brian can’t play we’ll...we’ll lose our contract and I’ll be sold.”

There it was.

That was the reason for that black cloud. 

Roger seemed to struggle with something internally before his face crumbled and he let out a shaking breath. He jerked with a sob and covered his face with his hands, completely dissolving in front of them. 

“It’s alright,” Ruth gave Harold a look and put a hand on heaving shoulders. “It’ll be alright.”

“How can you know that?” Roger’s voice was muffled by his hands. “Everything is going wrong.”

“I have faith. Something in this universe brought you two boys together and that isn’t going to stop any time soon,” she pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “The universe can’t be that cruel. You’ve been through enough.”

He wiped at his face and peered up at them. “Thank you...you both are very kind.”

He was just a child Harold realized. A scared, lonely child who was terrified he could lose everything. 

“What do you need Roger?” Harold asked and the angel turned wide eyes to him. 

“I...don’t know...”

So, they did what little they could. They helped straighten up the flat the best they could, Ruth starting on some laundry and Harold helping Roger scrub down the kitchen. In no time Ruth had a batch of biscuits baking in the oven and Harold was showing Roger the parts of Brian’s guitar they had worked on together.

The angel relaxed slowly but surely. He started showing his sharp, sarcastic sense of humor and quick wit. He was also obviously intelligent, following every bit of Harold’s explanation easily. 

“I’ll have to admit, it does me proud to see that he still uses this,” Harold grinned, holding the guitar gently. “Who’d have thought that a father-son bonding time could end with a guitar that’s played across the world?”

“You’re saying not all father-son bonding ends in building amazing guitars?” He laughed at the teasing tone in Roger’s voice.

“No, sometimes it just ends in good conversations. It’s like this,” Harold put the guitar back on it’s stand, noting how Roger had gone quiet. 

“I never met my father,” the angel said softly. “I don’t know if he was kind or cruel. I don’t know if he gave a second thought about me...I don’t know anything about him.”

Harold nodded. “Creating a child doesn’t make you a father or mother. Loving and caring for one does. We choose our families here, we choose who to love.”

The angel looked down at his feet, shuffling a bit. “I...I love your son.”

“I figured,” Harold reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “He loves you too. Ruth and I have known for a long, long time.”

“Really?” Roger glanced up.

“Brian...he has something in him. Sometimes it’s like he just gets overwhelmed by himself and there’s nothing we can do, no matter how hard we try. He’s not like that with you. He smiles more and he just glows. You make him  _ happy _ , happier than I have ever seen him,” Roger’s eyes glistened. “And, no matter who you are or what you are...as a father I want my boy to be happy.”

“Yes sir,” Roger whispered. 

“You two are going to have a rough go of it but you’ll make it. Ruth has a sense about these kinds of things,” he smiled. “But, you are loved Roger and you have a family. No matter what happens, you have to know that.”

The angel nodded.

The sun started to dip behind the buildings and Ruth called out, saying they should head back to their hotel. She wrapped Roger in a tight hug, kissing his cheek as she said goodbye. Harold also pulled him in for a hug and squeezed him lightly. 

“Let us know if you need anything,” Ruth smiled, giving him a wave as Roger shut the door behind them. 

They only made it halfway down the stairs before Ruth turned to him. “How did you conversation go?”

“Good, he’s a good kid,” Harold smiled. “He’s been through hell and back but...he loves our son.”

Ruth hummed and nodded. “Brian must think we are dumber than a box of rocks if he doesn’t think we can tell they are crazy about each other.”


	5. Taylor. The Mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried when I wrote this. No lie.
> 
> Trigger Warning: Mention of miscarriage and child abuse

**Taylor. The Mother.**

Her life had gone exactly as planned. 

She was bred to breed. Prized for her fine features and brightly colored wings. The Mother was bought as a child, trained, and used for her intended purpose by the age of sixteen. Expressionless cold angels were shown into her room and she would just close her eyes and pray that this time it took.

Three times she was pregnant.

Three times the child was lost in a rush of blood and disappointed sighs of the Masters.

“There must be something wrong,” one of the doctors huffed, pulling off bloodied gloves. “She must be defective. I would suggest putting her down if you don’t want to keep wasting resources.”

“No...we’ll try one more time,” the owner sighed and The Mother closed her eyes tight, grateful. She had one purpose in life and couldn’t dream of not being able to accomplish that. She couldn’t fathom the idea that she had let down the Masters. 

Then the pregnancy was viable.

The Mother stroked her stomach, smiling down at it during her long hours in her room. She had done it, she had followed through on her duty. What would her child be? A breeder like her? A companion? A beautiful thing on the arm of someone better?

She had expected the feeling of accomplishment, the feeling of doing her duty, when she had the child. 

She hadn’t expected the overwhelming love when the squealing boy was placed in her arms. 

He was  _ perfect. _ He had a shock of blond hair, a tiny scrunched face, short bald wings and the bluest, bluest eyes imaginable. Her eyes followed him as the doctors pulled at his limbs and drew blood, ignoring the shrieks. 

Then he was returned to her arms and she was given strict instructions to take care of her Master’s property before they were left alone. 

Feeling short of breath, The Mother let her fingers trail along his tiny face. This was what she was meant to do, this was who she was meant to be. She was meant to create new angels for her Masters to sell but...for the first time in her life she started questioning her purpose. 

This was her son, her child.

She felt him moving within her, she fed him at her breast, she rocked him to sleep when he cried. 

Maybe her purpose was more.

Maybe his purpose was more.

As the years went by she fell more and more deeply in love with her son. She watched him take his first steps, give her his first smile, say his first words, and sprout his first feathers. He was a sweet, darling boy who she treasured more than anything. 

They weren’t supposed to, but she named him.

Roger.

It was a strong name, the first name he turned to when she tried it. The Mother couldn’t remember her own mother loving her as much as she loved Roger but she couldn’t imagine feeling anyway else. Her child was the absolute light of her life. 

And that time was coming to an end.

The Mother knew that the buyers usually came by when the fledglings were around five years old. That was apparently an adequate time to spend with their mothers. Just thinking about it put her heart in a vice and she tried to banish it from her thoughts. 

Roger was running from one end of the small room to the other, wings extended and downy feathers rippling in the air. The Mother watched fondly, smiling at him as he tried to run off some of his seemingly endless energy.

Then the lock on the door clicked and Roger froze in place, blue eyes wide. He dropped to his knees, quickly joined by his mother. She passed her hand over his back, smoothing down his shirt before letting it join her other hand on her lap.

“Good evening!” A man’s voice sang out and she relaxed.

It was Joshua. 

He was the only handler who even attempted to speak to them. The handsome man came in, pushing a cart, and grinned at them. “We have porridge!”

“We had porridge  _ yesterday _ ,” Roger whined and The Mother’s throat tightened instinctively. Her son had a habit of speaking out, earning himself a few slaps for shouting out and “misbehaving”. Thankfully Joshua didn’t mind. He just laughed and ruffled the blond hair. 

“Ah, but...I might have gotten you a surprise as well,” the man winked and pulled out a small bowl of strawberries, getting a delighted gasp in response. 

Roger sat on the edge of their bed, legs swinging as he happily munched on his treat. The Mother watched him fondly before glancing at Joshua.

“You could get in trouble,” she whispered.

“Oh pish,” Joshua’s eyes were bright as he smiled at her. “It’s nothing.”

“Is there any news?” It was the same question she asked every morning but this time Joshua was quiet, face becoming more serious. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

“Taylor,” he sighed and her heart fluttered at that.  _ You deserve a name, Taylor perhaps? You look a bit like Elizabeth Taylor. It’s a good thing I promise. _ “I-”

“Don’t,” she shook her head and fought past the tears building in her eyes. 

“Tomorrow morning,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

No amount of pointless comforting could help. No amount of trying to prepare herself could help. Tomorrow she would lose her son and nothing could be done about that.

Joshua stayed for a bit, teasing Roger and making him giggle. With another fond ruffle of his hair and a lingering, soft smile at The Mother, he continued on his rounds. The door clicked behind him and The Mother gathered him into her arms. 

“Mama?” Her sweet, perfect boy looked up at her. 

Rhye, what a prize he would be. The Masters would see him for his pale skin, his soft hair, his too blue eyes and his stunning wings. They wouldn’t see his quick mind, his kindness, or his charm. They wouldn’t care. 

“Have I told you the story of the Fairy King?” She asked and he shook his head, wide eyed. 

The story was a faint memory but she told it the best she could. Her son’s eyes stayed locked on her as she told him of Rhye. Her smiled along with the stories of rivers of wine and stingless bees. He gasped when she told him of the bad men who stormed Rhye and took the colors with them. 

“But...the Fairy King won? Right Mama?” Roger asked softly. 

“No darling,” she kissed his forehead. “No, he didn’t.”

The little boy frowned. “That’s not right. He...he’s the hero.”

“Sometimes, the hero doesn’t win. Sometimes the dark is too much,” she smiled softly and stroked back his hair. 

“Well, I’ll fight the bad men! I’ll take back Rhye myself!” He puffed his chest out and she grinned, eyes swimming with tears. “Mama? Why are you crying?”

The Mother stroked his cheek and pulled him in close. She closed her eyes and felt the steady beat of his heart against her own, trying her best to memorize the feeling. 

Her son did have a purpose. Her brave, kind son was going to  _ change things _ .

No child would get taken from their mother again.

“Roger, I want you to promise me something,” she whispered and he nodded. “I want you to say these same words, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You are brave,” she whispered.

“I’m brave.”

“You are good.”

“I’m good.”

“You are...you are free.”

“But Mama...”

“No,” she shook her head. “I want you to say it.”

“I am free,” he whispered. 

“And one day you are going to leave behind this dead life. You are going to fly my love, you are going to fly and be a free man,” she stroked the soft feathers at his back. “Understand?”

He didn’t but he nodded anyway. 

The Mother pulled back and smiled softly down at him. “Now, let’s go to sleep and dream of sweet things.” 

She hummed to herself and stroked his wings as he fell asleep. The Mother stayed awake the whole night, not wanting to miss a moment of her last night with her boy. 

It was too soon, far too soon, when she heard the sound of footsteps and laughing down the hall. Suddenly it felt too hard to breathe and she pulled Roger into her arms, waking him. The boy blinked blearily at her and then startled at the sound of footsteps. He squirmed a bit, grunting when she didn’t let go.

“Mama,” he grumbled. “We’ll get in trouble.”

The Mother held him tight, choking on her sobs. It was only when the footsteps got unbearably close that she sank to the floor, still holding her boy. The door opened and she bowed her head, praying this was a dream. 

“Eh, let him go,” the Master took Roger’s arm and yanked him out of her grip, leaving her feeling like he had ripped a limb off instead. “See? Pretty thing no?”

It was only through training that Roger remained still, allowing the buyer to look him over. 

“Lovely,” the buyer nodded. “We’ll take him.”

The Mother pressed her hands into the cold ground, feeling short of breath. She wanted to scream and beg, plead for them to show mercy, but it would only make things worse. 

The Master tugged on Roger’s arm, steering him from the room he had spent his entire life in. The small boy froze, eyes going wide with panic and he spun to face her. “Mama?”

“It’ll be alright,” she gave him a trembling smile. “Remember what I said.”

“Mama!” Roger shrieked when they bodily picked him up. “Mama!”

“You are brave, good and free,” she ignored the sharp look from the Master. “Remember that Roger.”

The door closed behind them but she heard his screams for her for much longer. The Mother leaned back against the bed and wrapped her wings around her, feeling hollow. How could anyone survive this? How could anyone make it past this absolute agony?

They had a purpose. 

She clenched her jaw, closing her eyes tight. She wouldn’t be some nameless, thoughtless breeding machine. She would do her best to raise her children with kindness and love. She would raise them to know that there could be more. 

Taylor pressed her forehead into her knees and prayed. 

_ Let him find joy. _

_ Let him find love. _

_ Let him help others. _

_ Let him not end up like this. _

_ Let him be free. _

Her prayers had never been answered before but...Rhye help her, this one had to be heard by someone. 


End file.
